Death and Aspect

Sometimes you just don't know which way to fall. For instance, last week, I went to check my mother out of the cardiac wing of the local hospital, and showed up with an Egg McMuffin in one hand and a copy of Piers Anthony's On a Pale Horse in the other. There is a part of me that would love to take credit for the near-literal gallows humor. Another part of me understands how contrived it would've been if I'd done it on purpose. The truth is that, being nearly out of both money and attention span, I had to find a way to fill both my body and my mind quickly and cheaply. McDonald's provided one solution and my roommate's bookshelf provided the other. Given the discussion that follows, I ought to chalk it up to Fate. But she's another book.

Pale Horse, if it's not obvious from the title, deals with Death. Specifically, it deals with the man who assumed the office of Death upon the demise of the previous officeholder. Zane, the new officeholder, is not what you'd call a confidence-insipring kind of guy. He's a complete loser-- the kind of low-grade nobody you don't even bother to warn your girlfriends about, because no one would be likely to notice him in the first place. By about the second or third chapter of the book, he has already cursed his mother, gambled away his inheritance, catalyzed the death of a former girlfriend, and squandered his best chance at love and fortune for an enchanted stone that finds loose change. He tries to commit suicide and can't even do that right; instead, he kills Death and is forced to assume the position. The pun is somewhat intended-- it turns out that he was manipulated at every turn by the other Incarnations in order to bring about his situation, and it's not too long before the Devil gets him over a barrel.

How Zane prevails, however-- that's a thing of great beauty. And it's almost impossible to describe accurately without either spoiling the plot or reducing the whole thing to a cliche. Suffice it to say that when he finally crosses the line between performance and ownership, he gains a level of mastery that even the Devil himself can't break. He does it by fully manifesting his aspect.

Aspect is one of those things that we know when we see it; and on some level a lot of us want it for ourselves, even if we can't describe it. We tangle our tongues around approximations like "honor" or "devotion", or we struggle to assimilate nebuluous self-help phrases like "creating your own reality" or "living into your bliss". But aspect is more than these, in the same way that a triangle is more than a pyramid; it's a whole different order of being. Aspect is the quality that turns soldiers into heroes and believers into saints. Those on the outside are astonished that such actions and such presence can come from an ordinary human being. Those on the inside usually don't understand what all the fuss is about.

For us, there is good news and bad news in this. The good news is that everyone has the potential to realize aspect. The bad news is that most of us go about it entirely the wrong way. We search fervently for the path to wisdom, or we demand that rocks move when we butt our heads against them, or we go through our same dull routines day after day and wait for a flash of brilliance to strike down like lightning from heaven and tranform us. It's not entirely correct to say that these things don't work; it's more that they don't work in the way we want them to. These are more likely to develop in us the aspects of "seeker" or "hardheaded" or "waiting", not whatever it is we're actually searching or fighting or waiting for. For those of us who have ever raged at being told "you're trying too hard,"-- and that would include me--this seems to be what those other people are really trying to say.

As Death himself discovers in that great little book, the determining factor of aspect is intuitive, not linear. There simply is not an absolute road map to get us there from here. However, there are a few key points that will give us a better feel for the road.

First, we need to understand what aspect is. It is that domain in which we are sovereign-- and at the same time, it's the sovereignty we exercise over that domain. It's more than just mastery. It's the point where mastery and identity merge almost inseparably to become something greater than the sum of their parts.

Second, we need to understand what aspect is not. It's not glory or fame or renown; it's not necessarily about smoking the competition or keeping our edge. It depends entirely on us, not on others. That means that we don't have to wait for official kudos before we claim the title for ourselves. It also means that all the kudos in the world cannot grant us aspect.

Third, we need to be willing to start small and accept the transformation as we go. Aspect generally starts from some more familiar quality which may or may not bear any resemblance to the full manifestation.

Fourth, we need to hone our discretionary skills-- qualities like good judgment, perspective, and honesty. They may not help us with the actual intuitive leaps, but they will help us recognize the correct jumping-off points when we get to them.

Although we all have the potential for it, fully realized aspect is rare, for a number of reasons. Some people don't see the need to delve more deeply into areas of their lives that already seem to be functioning well. Others get to the edge of their understanding and turn back, unable to make the leap. Still others are unwilling to transform their lives that far, or to accept the greater responsibilities that flow from aspect. And some people manage to travel a fair distance along the road without ever quite understanding the significance of it. Those who do fully realize their aspect, however, can change the world just by doing as their nature demands.

I'll admit it-- I definitely want to be one of those people. If you do too-- or even if you just want to read more of my observations on the subject-- please see the next blog entry. And so I look forward. To what, I don't always know, but definitely forward.

Community-- the lost art

A much-beloved college chorale director once said something I'll never forget. He was describing the actions of former students who came back to town and said things like, "Oh, Mr. Harris, we were just in Lynchburg last weekend, and we almost came to see you, but..." He smiled that particular smile-- and if you've ever seen one, you know exactly the smile I mean; it's devastatingly effective-- and said, "If it's a priority, you'll do it."

I mention it now because, based on Mr. Harris's assessment, maintaining community just does not seem to be a priority for most of us any longer. Somewhere among the text messages and rollover minutes and cheap e-mail, we've lost not only the art, but the desire to remain connected to one another. We've forgotten what it all means.

For example, I have a dear friend whose primary means of communication for many years was to e-mail me other people's messages. Whenever I saw her name in my inbox, I knew I was just a click away from sampling whichever bit of inspiration, humor, "chicken soup", or moral outrage was currently making its way through the Internet. Yet I had no idea what was going on in her life, and she had no idea what was going on in mine. Repeated inquiries such as "Long time no hear from-- so how are you doing?" received the sorts of responses I might expect to get from a distant maiden auntie, if I actually had one: "I am well. I think of you often. Take care of yourself." Recently, she sent me another posting, this one a humorous poem about how we should be pleased to get yet another forward, because it means that someone is thinking of us. While I'm always pleased to know that someone is thinking of me, I sometimes feel vaguely cheated that twenty years of friendship doesn't usually earn me anything more than a quick click.

I had a similar discussion with members of our small, supposedly close-knit community church. After twelve years of dedicated attendance, I was dismayed to find out that my self-described "church family" considered me worthy of a lovely sendoff when I moved out of state, but not of keeping in touch with me once I'd left. The letters I sent might as well have been tossed into the ocean in bottles for all the response I received. My great move backfired and I ended up returning home after less than a year, but it was six months and a healthy dose of Christmas responsibility before I could set aside my indignation and visit the church I'd once called home. When I jokingly called my former choir mates a bunch of schmuck-oids for not writing, I was airily assured by one member that she hadn't seen her best friend in 25 years. The following Easter, the choir director told me how much everyone had missed me. When I asked rhetorically why they hadn't written, I got met with a smile. One of Those Smiles. You know the one.

It's not just me. I recently participated in a forum where alumnae of my alma mater were concerned about the lack of response from their "adopted students" on campus. During a time of extreme crisis, the alumnae had reached out to offer support and morale to those in need, only to have their cards and letters completely ignored. The supreme irony is that the crisis was likely caused in part, and certainly worsened, by college administrators treating the offers of alumnae assistance with the same disregard. It's also interesting to note that the perceived decline in enrollment corresponds neatly with a decline in beloved college traditions, such as the gradual move from family-style dining on college china to the impersonal card-swipe that entitles today's students to fill their own generic plates.

While I try not to bring up problems without proposing solutions, I have to admit that I have no easy answers for this one. The pace of today's life often means that we have barely enough energy to take care of our own needs, let alone spend active time supporting relationships that seem to be self-sustaining. The truth is that they are not self-sustaining, and neither are we. Our lives are better when we live them together, and when we truly realize this, we will be willing to make the commitment. It doesn't take much. Somewhere between the quick click and the message in a bottle lie the few words that will hold us together for another hour or another week. The form and even the content is less important than the act. Make that act a priority. You won't be disappointed.